‘Francesca, we must not be prejudiced,’ said Mrs. Anderson, who was taking her coffee in bed—a most unusual indulgence—while Francesca stood ready for a gossip at the bedside. The old woman was fond of petting her mistress when she had an opportunity, and of persuading her into little personal indulgences, as old servants so often are. The extra trouble of bringing up the little tray, with the fragrant coffee, the little white roll from the English baker, which the Signora was so prejudiced as to prefer, and one white camelia out of last night’s bouquet, in a little Venetian glass, to serve the purpose of decoration, was the same kind of pleasure to her as it is to a mother to serve a sick child who is not ill enough to alarm her. Francesca liked it. She liked the thanks, and the protest against so innocent an indulgence with which it was always accompanied.
‘I must not be so lazy again. I am quite ashamed of myself. But I was fatigued last night.’
‘Si! si!’ cried Francesca. ‘To be sure the Signora was tired. What! sit up till four o’clock, she who goes to bed at eleven; and my lady is not twenty now, as she once was! Ah! I remember the day when, after a ball, Madame was fatigued in a very different way.’
‘Those days are long past, Francesca,’ said Mrs. Anderson, with a smile, shaking her head. She did not dislike being reminded of them. She had known in her time what it was to be admired and sought after; and after sitting for six hours against the wall, it was a little consolation to reflect that she too had had her day.
‘As Madame pleases, so be it,’ said Francesca; ‘though my lady could still shine with the best if she so willed it; but for my own part I think she is right. When one has a child, and such a child as our Ombra——’
‘My dear Francesca, we must not be prejudiced,’ said Mrs. Anderson. ‘Ombra is very sweet to you and me; and I think she is very lovely; but Kate is more beautiful than she is—Kate has such a bloom. I myself admire her very much—not of course so much as—my own child.’
‘If the Signora had said it, I should not have believed her,’ said Francesca. ‘I should be sorry to show any want of education to Madame, but I should not have believed her. Mademoiselle Katta is good child—I love her—I am what you call fond; but she is not like our Ombra. It is not necessary that I should draw the distinction. The Signora knows it is quite a different thing.’
‘Yes, yes, Francesca, I know—I know only too well; and I hope I am not unjust,’ said Mrs. Anderson. ‘I hope I am not unkind—I cannot help it being different. Nothing would make me neglect my duty, I trust; and I have no reason to be anything but fond of Kate—I love her very much; but still, as you say——’
‘The Signora knows that I understand,’ said Francesca. ‘Two gentlemen have called already this morning—already, though it is so early. They are the same young Signorini who came to the Cottage in IsleofWite.’ (This Francesca pronounced as one word.) ‘Now, if the Signora would tell me, it would make me happy. There is two, and I ask myself—which?’
Mrs. Anderson shook her head.